Strong Foundation
by HauntedAngel13
Summary: Lavi isn't sure he has anything left to call and 'existance' and now its up to him to find the remnants of his humanity. Its a simply Oneshot about Lavi and being a Bookman. May contain romance in part 2 or 3 depending. 2nd genre is Conceptual.


This is a Oneshot that I just started writing. It will probably have 2 to 3 parts. This is what I understand about Lavi and his situation.

D.Gray-man: 49 Going on 50

I sat alone, the darkness a comforting blanket that hid me from prying eyes. Eyes that belonged to every other 'me' that had ever existed. Who was I really? This thought constantly berated me like a whip that lashed through any certainty I possessed. I had been nothing but a bookman in training for as long as I could remember. I didn't need to remember anything else. Desperately, I reached out for something to hold onto. Something that would let me move with time instead of standing still. I scribbled words into my notebook, words that could end what I was here and now if I were found out. It didn't matter though, I didn't need what I was right now. Emotionless, timeless, but most of all something that I had never realized before, loneliness. This one word struck my chest and left me breathless. It sent sensations I never believed could exist through my heart and it _hurt_. Never in my life had I felt this pain. I recalled anger, frustration, indignance, but nothing this close to the edge. I was losing it and it scared me. The Order had made me see things that had not been visible before. Friendship, a sense of being part of a team, a sense that I was part of something bigger.

Stretching forever into endless oblivion, I could feel the part of me I called my 'heart' aching, but the part of me that dominated, my 'common sense' smothered it and left me nothing but what I pretended to be. I wanted to reach out, to grasp something other than what I was, to be not a puppet of history and happenings, but an emotional collection of what I truly thought I might be able to recover. To become what I had left behind so long ago, someone with a soul, someone who had 'companions'. I didn't want to hurt this new family I had found. And in order not to smash their hearts into the ground I needed to change. Change what I was or change who I was. The latter had always been my choice. If it could really be called my choice, for it was all I had ever known. In order not to hurt someone, this is not what I had been taught. In order not to hurt myself, this is what I had learned so well. And it seemed that now all that knowledge was failing me.

Since I had joined Bookman on his journey and agreed to become his apprentice, I had ceased to be a 'who' and only lived as a 'what'. The being of 'someone' was impractical, unneeded. Only the being of 'something' was left and it was a stretch even to call it that. In reality I didn't exist as anyone or anything at all. I was simply a mask that changed to fit it's surroundings for the purpose of recording the events of what humanity went through. Not to personalized it, not to let the future see that the human was a weak race, only to record for the now and never to been seen for what I really was.

It didn't matter if those around me were hurt so long as I survived to record the bigger picture. I didn't need to write down any personal accounts or the story of any one person. All I needed to do was write down the facts, the simply truth told only by words and not by or with personality. This was a small task, but it cut me so deep that I thought maybe if I could do it I would bleed this hurt away.

For most of my life, if it could be called a life, I had been on the inside looking out with indifference. But recently I had stepped outside and peered at 'what' I was inside. I scolded myself for this act of selfishness. For want of reclaiming my soul. Bookman and I had caged our hearts, only listening to them to check our balance of emotions and to measure our reactions. But my cell was weakening along with my resolve. I couldn't hold onto this nonlife anymore. There was simply nothing left to hold onto.

It had been so easy to be cold and unfeeling. But now any feeling was like a drug, something that I knew was bad for me but I was addicted. And this addiction needed to be stopped for it was destroying everything I had built for myself. I couldn't decide whether Lavi and 'myself' were separate people or if he was an outlet for my feelings only disguised by my charades. There is nothing left to distinguish what is 'me' and what is Lavi. I hold onto that name for reasons unbeknownst to 'me'. Is it only an alias or is this who 'I' really am?

Nothing can hurt worse than the knife buried in my back. It twists with every move my conscious mind makes. It plunges ever deeper with every step away from safety I take. Every drop of ink that splashes onto the pages of time gets lost in an ocean of words. Words that mean nothing but what our language meant them for. There is not emotion behind them, there is nothing but emptiness that thrashes out for consumption. I feel the need to feed this emptiness that is so rapidly spreading. An emptiness that is eating away at my sanity. A sanity that I doubt any longer exists. An existence...if only this could be called existence. Skeptical of everything but the certainty of death. Certainty that so desperately needs to be called back.

I grasp at the hand of Fate like a faithful servant. Begging for my path to be erased and reconstructed. I would rather end it all, this pitiful existence, than continue as I am. For now it seems that I cannot place myself in the category of 'being', I cannot describe what this is for it most definitely is not the 'being' that I have read about. I only know this is wrong, my state, for what I have read. Like a small child who dreams of other worlds, I wish for something other than what I have. The stereotype for all humanity. Never satisfied. Is this really what being human is or have I lost the part of me that I can call 'human'?

This is what my 'life' has become. Nothing is everything I have and it is crumbling the foundation I have reinforced against all intruders. It is breaking me like a wild beast in a cage. I can feel it pulling me down into the black abyss that clings to my shadow. I can see it in the darkness, eyes that jeer while I lay awake in bed. The only problem now is that It doesn't have a shape or form with which I might combat it. It doesn't have a name or an identity so I might call it from hiding. What scares me is that It could, most likely is, myself.

If you have any recomendations or advise, please review. If you liked it I would love you to tell me! Let Lavi in on the love peeps!


End file.
